This was my first car, inherited from my mother.
I remember one night, working late at Perkins, Jeremy Wheater and I decided to race home. It was approximately an 11 mile stretch back to Sparta from the restaurant. I had my '86 Blue Chevy Cavalier Station Wagon, and he had his '86 Blue Chevy Cavalier. It was an nice, even match up. We took off at the same time. He got stopped by all red lights. I got stopped by blue and red lights -- the cops again!
Someone's mother worked in bulk foods and we wound up with a big barrel of colored mini-marshmallows. Shortly after tasting them, we grew sick of thier overly sweet taste and the barrel remained unopened in the back of the station wagon for sometime. I know it wasnt me, but someone found out the marshmallows had become sticky and could be formed into a snowball-esque shape. Even more interesting was their tendency to stick to the windows of passing motorists! Thus, the game began; i was usually driving as any number of friends would try to stick another car. The last time we played, I believe Shane, Jason, and Pat were in the car as I was driving. It was cold, with about a foot and a half of snow banks built up on the side of the road as we sped down the highway and stuck yet another car. The driver, an older, wrinkled man, was none too happy and gave chase in his maroon sedan. Surprised, we raced in and out of traffic, but he kept up: his persistence only fueled our anxiety and excitement. As I pulled right onto the next exit ramp, I plotted to trick the old man: he would follow us on the ramp, but I would pull back on the highway at the last possible second and he would be forced to stay on the exit ramp going off in one direction while we traveled along triumphantly in ours. the plan was proceeding splendidly as the maroon sedan slipped on the exit ramp behind us. I waited until just the right moment and cranked on wheel to put us back onto the highway. Unfortunate for us, a patch of black ice had decided to move right under us! A combination of recovery and over correcting put the station wagon in a spin off the right side of the exit ramp and down a 45 foot snow-covered embankment. Dazed and confused, we regained our composure and looked up the hill to watch the old man, who was concerned enough to stop, laugh, throw us the bird and drive off. It was kinda hard explaining this one to mom.